


Enough (But Not Yet)

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Intoxication, Light Power Play, Loss of Control, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Seduction, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds it hard to say no to Kate, not because of her temper—that he doesn't fear—but because of the way his heart always tightens with love and pride and something that he can't quite name when she looks at him like that, with a wicked smile and sparkling eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough (But Not Yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roeskva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roeskva/gifts).



> For roeskva through Smut Swap 2016. 
> 
> Popping my Chris/Kate cherry with this, and I really, really hope it's something you will enjoy =)

If Chris had been a better brother, he wouldn't have to deal with Kate's antics now. As the older one, it's his responsibility, or at least he thinks it is, to keep his sister in line. When they were younger, he managed to take care of that, but once high school got between them, he sort of lost his grip on her. He also sort of lost interest—Chris got to know girls and weapons, and that was so much more exciting than little sisters could ever be.

He should have kept Kate in check, but he realizes it's too late when he witnesses the fervor and ferocity with which she executes her first kill.

And it's not like he isn't proud of her. Barely eighteen, she shows a determination and a skill set that he lacked at her age. Perhaps it's good that she maintained the fierceness of her childhood. It will make her a successful hunter, once she manages to rein it back a little and make a tool of it.

Chris lets her have the kill the way she wants even though it makes him cringe. And when she comes to him to celebrate with half a bottle of scotch that she must have stolen from their father's liquor cabinet, he lets her have that too. He finds it hard to say no to Kate, not because of her temper—that he doesn't fear—but because of the way his heart always tightens with love and pride and something that he can't quite name when she looks at him like that, with a wicked smile and sparkling eyes.

They sit side by side and watch the stars rise. Silently, they pass the bottle back and forth until it's empty and the alcohol warms them from inside, shields them from the chill out here in the mountains. They could be home by now and enjoy the safety of their house and family, but after the werewolf hunt, neither of them made a move to break camp; it feels appropriate to share this special night of Kate's initiation alone.

When Kate produces another bottle from her backpack—Chris can't read the label, but it's hard liquor again for sure, another random something their father won't miss—he snatches it out of her hand and then rises. She protests—“What do you think you're doing?”—but he puts on his stern brother look.

“We had enough. It's late, and we need to get some rest.”

With a stagger betraying her level of intoxication, Kate stands directly in front of him. She reaches for the bottle with one hand and for the front of Chris’s long-sleeved T-shirt with the other. It seems as if she's going to fist the fabric, and Chris's heartbeat stumbles with surprise, but then she settles for placing her palm against his sternum. With a throaty laugh, she gives him a little shove. He yields, and the bottle is hers again.

“Don't be such a spoilsport. We'll be back to rules and society soon enough, but for now, I just wanna have fun. I earned myself a little fun, don't you think?”

“That's not the point.”

Kate tilts her head to the side and watches her brother through squinted eyes. “No, the point is you're way too uptight for my taste. Have you always been? I can't remember.”

“I'm not uptight,” Chris snorts.

“The Hell you're not.” Kate takes a swig from the bottle then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. When he rolls his eyes, she nods.

“Uptight,” she says in a singsong, and that's it, that's enough for Chris to snatch the liquor out of her hand and play along.

Kate doesn't let go, however, and he ends up pulling her closer. Before his mind parses what happens, she reaches for his shirt again, fists the fabric this time, and her scotch-heavy breath tickles his skin.

Standing on her tiptoes, Kate whispers, “You haven't forgotten how to have fun, have you? How to celebrate properly?”

In that moment, a hundred possible, appropriate reactions come to Chris's mind, none of which remotely resembles the one he settles for. “Don't play with fire, Kate. You might get burnt badly.”

She laughs that throaty laugh of hers again, and for a heartbeat, it seems like she'll back off. Then, so suddenly that Chris barely has time to draw in a sharp breath of surprise, she kisses him.

Kate tastes of malt and adventure and danger, and he shouldn't let her get to his head like this—she's his goddamned sister, for Christ’s sake—but something about the whole situation short-circuits his brain in a very unhealthy way. Half hoping, half afraid to scare her off for good, he kisses her back, but all it seems to do is encourage her more.

Chris doesn't feel uncomfortable, although the part of his mind that's sober and responsible and _sane_ informs him he should. He doesn't shy away, either, not even when she presses herself against him so tightly that not a single sheet of paper would fit between them. A familiar heat pools in his belly to spread down to his loins—and that's when he breaks the kiss and shoves her back.

She brings the bottle to her mouth again. Her expression is unreadable, her gaze clouded, but the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips tells Chris she's content with his current state: slightly confused, out of breath, and on the brink of doing something incredibly stupid.

Chris takes the bottle from Kate with a little more force than necessary and ignores the sharp burn in his throat as he empties it.

For a moment, they just stand there, closer than is good for them—good for him, really, because all of a sudden, Chris can hardly parse anything but the throbbing in his loins, unexpected, but not necessarily unwanted, not if he's completely honest.

Kate opens her mouth, probably to say something smug or dismissive, and Chris can't let that happen, can't let her backpedal now, not when he suddenly _craves_ what he shouldn't have with an intensity he's never known, neither when he first made out with Amber LeClerk on the backseat of his beaten-up car nor when he popped Zoe Hall's cherry on the backseat of her brand new car.

Before the words can leave Kate's mouth, Chris pulls her close again. She pushes hard at his chest, and as if waking up from a deep sleep, Chris snaps back into reality. He lets go. All of a sudden, awkwardness hangs over them like a heavy cloud.

Chris clears his throat, and what comes over his lips is a hoarse, “We should get some sleep.”

Kate nods, but if she feels half as awkward as he does, she doesn't show it. “You go. I want to enjoy the silence for a little longer.”

~ ~ ~

When Chris wakes up, he can't even believe he fell asleep at all. All he remembers is the thought of _what on earth did you just do?_ tormenting him in turns with the threat of upcoming nausea.

At first, he doesn't know what roused him, either. Everything is quiet. As far as he can tell, the world outside the tent hasn't woken yet. It takes him about thirty seconds before he realizes the disproportionate warmth surrounding him can only be Kate pressed against his back. Once his mind functions a tad better, he becomes aware of what she's doing, and he immediately grabs her hand to still it.

If anything, she presses herself even tighter against him. Her nipples are hard, and that's almost enough to make him forget to breathe. That and how she won't stop stroking him, and boy, oh boy, if anything has ever been amazing and wrong enough at the same time to blow his mind, then this is it. Again, he tries to make her stop, but it must be halfheartedly, for she isn't the least bit impressed by his efforts.

“What the fuck?” he hisses into the semi-dark. In return, Kate presses her lips to his neck and shushes him with a half-whisper, half nibble on sensitive skin. An involuntary moan escapes him.

Chris tries his damnedest to control his arousal, but with Kate steadily stroking his already way too hard dick while licking a wet trace from underneath his ear down to the collar of his shirt, it's fighting in vain. No man is immune to seduction this determined. Or maybe it's the remainder of scotch in his system—but either way, every nerve in his body responds, vibrates with desire.

“Stop it,” he says, but his voice is as weak as his resistance.

Kate mumbles something against his neck that he can't understand. What he does understand is the little purr accompanying a playful flick of her wrist; that sound connects to something deep inside of him, some primeval male instinct to claim what's his.

With a tight grip, Chris forces her hand off his hard-on. His unzipped sleeping bag that serves as a blanket is gone in a second as he maneuvers Kate on her back to pin her down with his full strength. The tent shivers at his sudden movement, as if to announce its disapproval.

“Is that what you want?” he almost snarls, and a throaty moan is her only answer when he grinds his hips down to show her the fire she kindled. “Is that really what you want?”

She shakes her head, but she bucks up anyway, rubs herself against him like he hasn't ever known a girl do, not even Sheryl Brookman, the town bicycle.

“Looks like maybe you haven't forgot,” Kate says, and she's too close to his lips again, too warm and soft and pliant for him to even spare a thought at _who_ she is, _what_ he's doing. He captures her mouth in a demanding kiss as he grinds down once more.

“Forgot what?”

“How to have fun.”

And in that moment, Chris almost wants to slap her face because the definition of fun is _not_ wanting to fuck your own sister, but then again, maybe—only maybe, in a twisted, unreal world—that's _exactly_ the kind of fun that he secretly always wanted. She wraps her legs around him and pulls him so close that for a heart-stopping moment, he has the absurd thought he could actually fuck her _through_ their clothes.

But that's impossible, of course, and he doesn't bother keeping up with any sort of wicked game of hers either; something inside him must have snapped for good because all he can think of is getting his sweatpants off and sticking his aching dick where it wants to be; screw reality, screw the consequences, screw every-fucking-thing.

As he sits back to shimmy out of his clothes—an effort the tent answers with another disapproving quiver—Kate sits up, too, and when Chris's cock springs free, she reaches for it again, drags her hand down the length so slowly yet with so much pressure that it borders on cruel.

“Not so impatient,” she says, and he can't tell if she means his haste to rid himself of his clothes or the fact that he's already leaking precome, a detail he wouldn't have noticed if Kate hadn't swiped her thumb over the tip of his dick and then brought it to his mouth. He sucks it in and gets a faint taste of himself that almost makes his eyes cross.

Kate pushes at his chest, and Chris finds himself leaning back onto his forearms. Kate gives him an unreadable look that almost makes him want to stop this folly, but when Chris feels her hot breath on his dick and the flick of tongue that follows, he can't care for anything else. With a hushed moan, he closes his eyes.

He doesn't consider himself small, but Kate takes him in deep. The thought of when and where she might have learned to do that crosses Chris's mind but is gone when she slides back up, leaves his cock with a _naughty_ sound, and goes all the way down again, and again, and a-fucking-gain.

At this point, Chris's last coherent thought is not to meet her movements lest he hurt her; anything else—the fact that this is his _sister_ , first and foremost—has lost importance. She keeps going and going for he can't say how long until she withdraws, and the loss is so severe that all Chris's willpower doesn't keep him from reaching for her hair and pulling her back down once more.

Kate acquiesces, but she also cups his balls and squeezes them hard as she sucks him in again; it's _just_ this side of painful. Involuntarily, Chris bucks up, and this time, the deep-throating makes her choke. Immediately feeling guilty, he lets go of her hair.

Once she can, Kate smacks her lips and gives him a smug smirk. If Chris needed any more proof that she's _okay_ with this, he'd need to seriously consider his state of mind, but the part of him that once was thoroughly decent still remembers how fucking wrong this is, and even if its voice is hushed and doesn't stand a real chance against the throbbing desire, it's enough to make him utter a hoarse, “Tell me you want it.”

“Why else would I have condoms in my backpack?” Kate says, turns around and, head down and ass up, presents her backside to him.

Maybe it's that simple yet unmistakable invitation, or maybe it's how she snickers as if she _dares_ him to fuck her, but either way, Chris leans forward with an almost feral sound on his lips. She snickers again and tugs on her pants a little too playfully for his taste; within moments, he's shoved those damned panties down and then grabs Kate by the hips.

“Fuck,” she says, and then she repeats it with more fervor when Chris dips his tongue into her pussy.

He only means to tease her for a moment, but when she arches her back and reaches for his hair to hold him in place, the thought dissipates like a wisp of smoke and his impatience gives way to something far more urgent, an almost animalistic instinct. He couldn't deny her if he tried; he wants her to writhe with the pleasure he causes, needs to establish once and for all that he's in charge—regardless of the fact that she's been pulling the strings all along.

When Chris fucks his tongue in and out of her with smooth little thrusts, he elicits loud moans that connect straight back to his cock, throbbing with an enthusiasm bordering on painful. This—Kate— _his sister_ —is a forbidden path to ultimate bliss, and he will be damned if he doesn't follow it.

He grabs her even harder, hard enough that his short, blunt nails dig into her flesh, but in that moment, just when he spreads her ass cheeks and slowly licks his way into her cleft, she shoves his head back and tells him in a voice so firm that his mind stumbles over the tone more than the words: “Stop fooling around and fuck me already.” 

And that's it. That's the command he waited for, the one desire that must have lurked in the deepest, darkest corners of his subconscious forever because now that it's surfaced, it's a strong and vibrant predator that must have been nurtured well, one way or the other.

And it takes full control.

Chris searches for the condom and puts it on with trembling hands. Then he pushes inside her, and _oh god, oh my god,_ he won't last long. Kate feels too good, too eager to please. Chris lets out a groan through clenched teeth, and Kate answers it, answers his every sound and every move so easily as if they were one.

He fucks her with hard thrusts, each going deeper than the first, until her crescendoing moans become tinged with pain. But even then, Kate guides his hand into her hair and cranes her neck, prompting him to keep up his almost frantic rhythm. 

Unintended, little, clipped words leave his mouth, sometimes a curse, sometimes praise, and Kate seems to soak them all up like a sponge, moves her body _just_ so to draw more and more obscenities from him until the last of his conscious mind—not that it's much—blanks.

All that matters anymore is the _hotwettight_ in and out in an angle that allows Chris to slip in deeper than he ever thought was even possible, and how his whole physical being is reduced to that simple yet powerful act of claiming and possessing. He may have to go to Hell for it, but he wouldn't want it any other way.

He's close, so close now, and he reaches around her to thumb at her clit, but Kate brushes his hand away. Chris tries again, doesn't want to finish first, and this time, she grabs his wrist and utters a breathless, “Jesus, just fucking come already,” and then she clenches around him, fucking _milks_ his cock, and repeats a variety of her words, and that's it, that's too good to fight, too much to bear.

When Chris comes deep inside his sister, he doesn't feel the slightest bit of remorse or guilt or shame, only utter bliss.

All along, she keeps uttering obscenities that sound completely _normal_ coming from her. And when the initial high of his orgasm passes and he finally wants to withdraw, she shakes her head and prompts him to stay.

“Still not enough?” Chris asks suddenly, and Kate laughs another one of her throaty laughs, this one breathless.

“Not in the slightest.”

And so he stays inside her until he can't help but slip out of her, and even then, he knows she won't grant him much of a reprieve.

Not that he's complaining.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Visit my LJ-community [Bunny Bash](http://bunnybash.livejournal.com) to leave me a prompt at any time.]
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


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